


lighting myself on fire

by autoheart



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoheart/pseuds/autoheart
Summary: Arthur was exactly the kind of man Merlin made a point of avoiding.***In which Arthur's mere existence is torture.





	lighting myself on fire

Arthur was exactly the kind of man Merlin made a point of avoiding. He cursed himself on a daily basis for ever taking it upon himself to attempt to put the other man in his place and subsequently getting himself stuck with him. Not that it would have helped much, but it would have certainly made things easier if he was not bound to answer Arthur’s every beck and call. The thing was, for Merlin, being in the same city as Arthur, no, the same _kingdom,_ was too close. He had the infuriating ability to be too close even when he was an entire training field away. Merlin sometimes doubted that Arthur was entirely without his own sort of magic, a quiet and possibly unintentional kind where he had the ability to make a normal room a hundred times smaller, or maybe the ability to make everyone around him zero in on every minute detail of his face, his movement, his demeanor. Not that Merlin was quite sure that everyone around him was as focused on Arthur as he was, but surely he couldn’t be the only one that felt so commanded by Arthur’s presence.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was a prince that made him so hard to ignore, which was hardly a bad thing, given the circumstances. Princes should be able to hold their subjects’ attention, and Arthur, for all intents and purposes, was riveting.

But he wasn’t _interesting_ . No, Merlin wouldn’t go as far as to grant him such a compliment. Merlin wanted to say that Arthur was stupid, self-centered, hot-headed, and arrogant. He couldn’t say it, not in good conscious, for he knew it was mostly untrue. What he could, in good conscience, say, was that Arthur wasn’t _interesting_ , which was exactly why he was the type of man that was best for Merlin to steer clear of. A man that held his attention in such perilous bondage as Arthur, for no apparent reason at that, was never good for a man like Merlin.

 

He had, of course, noticed that Arthur was such a man the moment he saw his face, which he supposed was part of his inspiration to have words with him that fateful morning. Something about the set of Arthur’s shoulders, the purse of his lips, the way he walked as if he owned the place (which Merlin later learned was because, technically, he did) made Merlin feel that he would gladly get in a fight with this man if the other option was never to have touched him in any capacity at all. And that thought, that flicker of desire, is what pushed the insult from his lips.

 

If only he had known that indulging in a moment of playful banter would land him having to touch Arthur repeatedly, but in a clinical, unfeeling, calculated way that a servant dresses a master, that a physician treats a wound, he would have never… He wouldn’t have.. He wished he wouldn’t have done it all over again, but he would have done, because any contact with Arthur was infuriatingly addictive, and now that he had it, he doubted he could ever give it up.

 

But even as Arthur filled Merlin with his presence when he was out of sight and on the opposite end of the castle, Merlin was sure that Arthur forgot he existed the moment he left his sight. And even when he did know Merlin was alive, he didn’t seem too excited by the reality of it. In short, Arthur robbed Merlin of breath and every other bodily function necessary to sustain life while Merlin barely registered on Arthur’s plane of existence. This was, without a doubt, the principal reason that Arthur was exactly the kind of man Merlin made a point of avoiding.

 

Now, watching Arthur on the training field instead of getting to work polishing whatever he had been ordered to polish- because how could he do anything _but_ watch Arthur when he was in his line of sight- he was overwhelmed by the easiness of his movement. The bulk of the knights’ training was done for the day, and the men were now what could rightly be called horsing around as long as you didn’t say it to their face- as knights, especially those of Camelot, were never to be accused of farting about. This was Merlin’s favorite time to watch Arthur, when he was smiling and laughing and acting like a boy of twenty years instead of a prince.

 

The only problem with the watching was Merlin often forgot that he could be seen. Arthur had just let out a loud peal of laughter, which was excuse enough to be looking in his direction, but nevertheless, Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot when Arthur’s eyes fell upon him, catching his gaze. Merlin should have looked away, he knew, but he couldn’t, and he supposed he was glad of it. Arthur did not seem to find it strange that Merlin had been watching him. In fact, his smile widened, his eyes crinkling in the process, and he sent a pleasant nod Merlin’s way. A few of the men that had been speaking to him followed the direction of the Prince’s nod, and upon seeing who it was directed at, one of them laughed and pushed Arthur’s shoulder teasingly.

 

Merlin furrowed his brow, trying his best to hear the exchange, but failing. He was able to barely make out Arthur’s lips forming the words “I _am_ your Prince, lest you forget,” has he jostled the other man back. Merlin couldn’t help but assume they were making fun of Arthur for granting a servant such pleasantries of a friendly nod. With an unpleasant knot settling in his gut, he resolved not to look over at the Prince until he was called upon, and maybe not even then. It was an ambitious resolution, but it was the closest he could get to avoiding him.

 

Merlin let himself get lost in thought as he scrubbed away at Arthur’s filthy armor, trying to take his mind off of Arthur but failing. Every thought was punctuated with him. _What should I eat for dinner tonight (what does Arthur think of me)? I hope Gaius won’t be needing any help (does he even think of me at all)._

 

“It helps to look at the armor when you’re cleaning it, you know.”

Merlin jumped, tearing his eyes from where he had been staring into space, straight ahead of himself, while he was cleaning.

“I think I know more about cleaning than you do, Sire.” Merlin bit back, turning to face the prince and bumping into him, finding Arthur was much closer than he had expected.

“I’m inclined to doubt that, Merlin,” Arthur replied, smiling as he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder to steady him. Merlin stepped back instinctively.

Merlin both hated and loved that smile, the way it made him feel important, the way his brain tried to pick out details that made the smiles Arthur gave him different from the smiles he gave anyone else. They weren’t different, but the flutter in Merlin’s stomach was desperate to believe they were.

“You’ve never cleaned anything in your life,” Merlin protested, pushing the smile and the flutter aside.

“And you’ve never cleaned anything well,” Arthur’s smile persisted, the flutter returning twofold. “I’ve hurt my shoulder. It hurts when I do this,” he added, wincing as he moved it to demonstrate.

“Then don’t do that,” Merlin shrugged, putting away his barely touched cleaning supplies.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur chastised, and Merlin damned him for how soft his voice was. He could hardly bear when Arthur was really annoyed with him, but the instances when he sounded just this side of fond were far worse. “You’ll get something from Gaius for me, won’t you?”

“It’s either that or listen to you complain, which is hardly a choice,” Merlin sighed.

“You wouldn’t be able to hear me complain from the stocks,” Arthur threatened playfully.

“I’m sure you’d make sure I could,” Merlin rolled his eyes, thinking of the other times he had been put in the stocks for his insolence. Arthur was always close by, most likely for a good laugh, but he also seemed to stop the rotten food throwing before it got to be too much. Merlin also doubted he had spent an entire hour there before Arthur had him released early to wait on him again. “I’ll go get something now. You’ll be in your chambers?”

“Obviously,” Arthur smiled again.

He was in a terribly good mood, Merlin noted as he walked towards Gaius’s. His jokes weren’t nearly as cutting as usual, his tone not nearly as sharp. He could only hope the Prince would fall back into his normal habit of being intolerable before Merlin had convinced himself they were maybe nearly friends.

 

***

Merlin entered Arthur’s room to find him entirely suited in his armor still, aside from his gauntlets.

“I was going to take it of myself but my shoulder…” Arthur trailed off, reading Merlin’s mind.

“Don’t worry, I would never expect you to do anything yourself, Arthur. Sire,” he added quickly. Having spent so little time around royalty prior to his stay in Camelot made him slow to adopt royal titles in his speech, but he found it especially difficult when he was alone with Arthur. He went to work at removing Arthur’s armor, then his shirt.

Arthur’s left shoulder was sporting the beginnings of a bruise, but it was hardly the worst injury Arthur had brought home during Merlin’s service. He traced his finger over it absentmindedly.

“You can't tickle it away, Merlin,” Arthur startled him out of his observance, his voice tight.

“Just trying to gauge the severity,” Merlin returned quickly.

“And the verdict?”

“The crown prince is a big baby to have complained about this,” Merlin said matter-of-factly.

“Of course he is,” Arthur nodded, grinning at Merlin. “Indulge me and fix it anyway.”

Merlin produced a vial of salve for muscle soreness he’d pilfered from Gaius’s shelves and made to hand it to the prince.

Arthur waved it away, sitting in his chair at the table. “You do it for me, I can’t reach the whole thing, let alone see it,” he ordered.

Merlin tensed. This was part of his job, he knew, but anything that involved rubbing and Arthur’s skin brought him pause.

“A needy baby, at that,” he mumbled, positioning himself behind Arthur.

“So you’ve told me,” Arthur agreed, relaxing into the chair.

 

Merlin warmed the salve in his hands before going to work at the bruise, massaging it in lightly, as not to cause more pain than necessary. Arthur hummed pleasantly, lolling his head to the side to allow Merlin easier access. Merlin’s breath caught at the sound, and he sped his work along, not wanting to prolong his torture. He pulled away shortly after and Arthur groaned in protest.

“That wasn’t nearly enough,” he whined.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do, I’ve done everything short of kiss it better,” Merlin said, walking around to the opposite side of the table, putting space between him and his tormentor.  

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up at Merlin’s words and Merlin realized too late he shouldn’t have said it.

“Tell me, Merlin, as a physicians apprentice, what would be the benefit of you kissing my injury?” Arthur asked in a tone of mock seriousness he reserved for times he felt Merlin was being particularly entertaining.

“I was only kidding,” Merlin sputtered, turning to busy himself with the unlit fire.

“Kidding? About the well being of the crown prince? You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Arthur admonished.

 

Merlin took the flint and struck it, sparks yielding no flame.

He heard Arthur’s chair slide back against the floor and hoped that perhaps he would retire for a nap, as it was not uncommon for him to do between training and dinner. But a creak of the bed frame did not follow and Merlin decided fate had granted him no such luck tonight. He felt a flicker of annoyance at the possibility he was being watched, which made magic out of the question. He hardly ever got the fire started without magic, so he was resigned to look like an idiot until Arthur’s interest waned or decided he could do the job better and took up the flint himself.

Merlin struck the flint again. A twig of kindling caught, burning up almost instantly, the flame crackling through the rest of the bundle. An ember rose from the masses and landed angrily on Merlin’s hand.

Merlin hissed, shaking the offending ember from his hand.

 

Arthur was suddenly at his side, kneeling down next to him.

“Can’t you do anything without mortally wounding yourself?” Arthur chuckled, taking Merlin’s hand in his own to study it.

Merlin’s eyes came to rest on Arthur’s bruised, still exposed shoulder.

“No better than you can,” he retorted quietly, trying to ignore Arthur’s lack of clothing in such causal proximity and maintain level breathing when Arthur was touching him instead of the other way around. He was never good at multitasking.

 

“It’s nothing too bad,” Arthur ignored Merlin’s jab, running his thumb along the unmarred skin on the back of Merlin’s hand just to the right of the burn. “It shouldn’t even blister. That salve’s no good for burns is it?”

“No, it’s not. I’ll be fine until I can get something from Gaius,” Merlin began to draw his hand away from the other man, who immediately tightened his grip.

“That’s no good,” Arthur furrowed his brow. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

 

It did. It wasn’t the worst burn he’d had, but it wasn’t pleasant. He nodded in the affirmative.

“Well,” Arthur paused. “I suppose there is something that could be done.”  
Merlin’s heart beat uncomfortably against his chest, and he worried that his hand was beginning to sweat in Arthur’s. He wanted nothing more than to pull away before he did or said anything dumb.

“What’s that?” he heard the response in his own voice.

 

A smirk formed on Arthur’s face, which was worse than a smile and one of the most powerful forms of magic that existed in Arthur’s lips. He was doing it again, that insane magnification of presence that drove Merlin to the brink of madness. It was only made worse by contact, a particular detail that Merlin had not had the misfortune of experiencing prior to that moment.

 

Rather than answer Merlin’s question, Arthur, showing only a fraction of uncharacteristic hesitation, lifted Merlin’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin he had only just lifted his finger from.

Merlin’s breath caught as Arthur looked up at him from behind his eyelashes, more nervousness in his face than Merlin had been accustomed to seeing. Something in his eyes seemed to be asking Merlin permission, but for what, he did not know. Even in his waned confidence, or perhaps because of it, Arthur’s energy was all-consuming, Merlin’s skin prickling with it.

 

“I just told you,” Merlin said past the lump in his throat that was surely his heart, “there was no known medical benefit to kissing a wound.”

“Perhaps that’s only because no one has tried it,” Arthur said, studying Merlin with an unfamiliar intensity.

Merlin swallowed.

Arthur wove his fingers through Merlin’s, careful not to touch the burn.

“Has it helped?”

“No,” Merlin breathed, staring at their intertwined hands.

 

Had Arthur no idea the effect he had on him? Had he no idea how cruel this small instance of contact was? What peril his hands and lips held for Merlin? Merlin searched the other man’s eyes and found them darker than usual, a look he had only seen when Arthur was in one of his worse moods and decided he was being punished for some unknown discretion. He tried to pull away, but Arthur held fast.

 

“Arthur, if any other servant were to walk in to see this, it would appear-“

“It would appear to be exactly what it is,” Arthur finished for him.

“And what is it?” Merlin asked, his breath catching in his throat.

Merlin knew Arthur could be dense, but not this dense. He couldn’t think this would look like a prince tending to a wounded servant. A prince shouldn’t be tending to his servant in any capacity in the first place.

“Merlin, how is it that you don’t know?” Arthur said, rising from a kneel and pulling Merlin up with him, never releasing his hand.

“Know what? What is there to know? All I know is that for some inexplicable, no doubt stupid reason you won’t let go of my hand.”

“Every moment I have ever spent near you not touching you has been agonizing,” Arthur said, his eyes locking on their intertwined hand.

Merlin was dumbstruck.

“So if I may have just one more moment, like this, you can forget about it in the time to come,” he continued, his voice softer than Merlin had ever heard it.

 

Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur’s hand involuntarily.

 

“You’re not actually hurt, are you?” he whispered.

“What this?” Arthur laughed, looking at his bruised shoulder. “Child’s play. I’ll hardly know it’s there by morning.”

“Do you know what torture it is for me,” Merlin began quietly, “to touch you like that? Like I’m your physician?”

“You’ve never touched me like any physician I’ve ever had,” Arthur replied. “You touch me like-“

Arthur trailed off, once again looking to Merlin for what looked like permission.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like it’s a form of prayer. You touch me like it’s worship. When you tend my wounds, it feels almost like you love me. Maybe that’s a hopeful imagination on my part,” he said, “because I’ve never wanted someone’s touch so badly before.”

Merlin drew in a breath that was almost a gasp.

“I thought- I hoped- that maybe you felt it, too,” Arthur finished, his hold on Merlin’s hand tightening.

Merlin searched desperately for his words. His interactions with Arthur had always been easy, playful. He didn’t know how to speak any other way with him.

“I’m only disappointed that it only felt _almost_ as though I loved you,” he settled upon finally.

“Why is that?”

“Because I do, Arthur, I do-“

“But only as a faithful servant loves his prince. That’s ok, that’s understandable,” Arthur interrupted.

“No.”

“No?”

“I love you as a man, Arthur. I thought it’s always been clear that I don’t give half a damn that you’re a prince.”

“You don’t, do you?” Arthur laughed.

 

Arthur repositioned his grip on Merlin’s hand, accidentally pressing his thumb into the burn. Merlin hissed but didn’t pull away, afraid of breaking whatever spell the prince was under.

“Sorry,” Arthur said hurriedly, pulling away.

“Nothing a kiss won’t fix,” Merlin quipped, surprised at his own bravery.

Arthur smiled devilishly, making to bring Merlin’s hand to his lips again.

“Not there.”

Arthur’s eyes widened momentarily before he brought his free hand to rest at the nape of Merlin’s neck, slowly closing the space between them.

Merlin sighed as their lips met, pulling away his injured hand and burying it in the other man’s hair, ignoring the small pain he felt as strands of Arthur’s hair dragged at the burn.

Arthur ran his tongue along Merlin’s bottom lip, asking for entrance, and Merlin gasped at the sensation, opening his mouth willingly. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream, that he hadn’t been engulfed in flames earlier as he lit the fire and this was his dying vision. Arthur licked into his mouth, almost desperately, his other hand grasping Merlin’s hip as he pulled him impossibly closer. Merlin fisted into his hair, so forcefully it was surely painful, drawing a growl out of the other man.

They pulled away for air, Merlin’s vision swimming with what he could only describe as euphoria.

“The moment I saw you, I had always hoped to end up here,” Arthur murmured.

“You calculated every second, didn’t you? You probably asked your father to reward me with a position as your servant,” Merlin said, surprised he could even speak.

Arthur played with the hair at the base of Merlin’s neck, an easy smile gracing his lips.

“What was my other choice? Letting you slip away?”

“I wish I didn’t love you, so you would get a taste of what it felt like not to always get just exactly what you wanted,” Merlin replied, kissing the corner of Arthur’s smile.

“I’m the prince. It’s part of my job description to have everything I want,” Arthur joked.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” Merlin said.

“Well, I have it now. Everything little thing I ever wanted. I don’t think I ever truly wanted anything until I saw you.”

“I’d take it all away if I could. To teach you a lesson.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin into another searing kiss.

“No,” Merlin agreed against his lips. “I wouldn’t.”

 

Arthur laughed into the kiss, tugging at Merlin’s shirt to guide him towards the bed. Merlin let Arthur push him backward into the mattress, thinking of all the times he had imagined this moment and how none of his fantasies measured up to the real thing. Arthur broke the kiss to climb onto the bed, straddling Merlin before he leaned down to reconnect their lips. He pulled at Merlin’s neckerchief, loosing it from its place and throwing it aside. Merlin keened, digging his fingers into Arthur’s shoulders as the other man moved to kiss his neck. If the way he tended Arthur’s wounds was worship, he didn’t know how to classify this.

Arthur’s hands moved to Merlin’s breeches, his fingers playing at the hem.

“May I?”

“Yes,” Merlin nearly choked on the word.

Arthur began to unlace his breeches, his fingers moving skillfully quick.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Merlin teased breathlessly.

“Of course, I do,” Arthur said, mischief in his eyes. “I dressed myself before you came along.”

“That’s cruel,” Merlin said, his breath hitching as Arthur pressed a kiss to his hip bone.

“More cruel to me than it was to you,” Arthur promised. He palmed Merlin through his unlaced breeches, Merlin’s head spinning with how unreal it was to have Arthur, there, touching him like this. “May I-“

“Anything, Arthur, anything. Everything. All of it is yours.”

Arthur dug a thumb painfully into Merlin’s hip at his words.

“God, Merlin, you have to be careful saying things like that.”

“Only when they aren’t true.”

Arthur tugged Merlin’s breeches the rest of the way down, freeing his already hard cock from the fabric. Arthur took Merlin in his hand, pumping once, the ring he wore on this thumb running maddeningly down the sensitive skin on the underside of Merlin’s cock. Merlin fisted into the sheets at the feeling, sure he couldn’t make it past this. He was sure now, this was a dream, he was in the infirmary with Giaus watching over him, waiting for his dying breath.

But he didn’t wake, nor did he fade away into demise, as Arthur took him in his mouth unexpectedly, swirling his tongue around the head before taking him in full, his lips grazing at the hair at the base of Merlin’s dick. Merlin whimpered as Arthur bobbed his head.

Arthur’s hand found his uninjured hand on the sheets, lacing their fingers together as he worked Merlin’s cock with his free hand and mouth.

“Fuck,” Merlin gasped, trying to keep his hips from bucking into Arthur’s throat.

“It’s okay,” Arthur murmured, pulling away momentarily. “You don’t have to hold back.”

Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur’s hand as Arthur settled his mouth back onto Merlin’s dick, hollowing his cheeks.

He felt himself at the tipping point, unable to restrain himself any longer, and fucked up into Arthur’s mouth, moaning as Arthur swallowed around his release.

 

Merlin lay, utterly spent, as Arthur crawled up the bed to lay beside him. Merlin turned his head, kissing at Arthur’s jawline.

“I love you, too, if that wasn’t clear,” Arthur said, catching Merlin’s lips with his own.

“Is that what you call that?” Merlin asked, breathless.

Arthur chuckled.

“Your mouth is magic,” Merlin murmured.

“My father would prefer you called it royal,” Arthur said.

“I think calling whatever you just did royal may be treason,” Merlin joked.

“Then I have never enjoyed an act of treason more,” Arthur replied, kissing him again.

 

Merlin sighed happily, finding he quite agreed.

 


End file.
